Lost Boy
by juliasejanus
Summary: Prequel to Dancer. Alex Rider's decent into the criminal underworld after the death of Jack. WARNINGS Slash sex, drug use, torture


Late September 2002 - San Francisco

Alex sat in the book shop in Little Italy, San Francisco trying to forget his life, staring at a half finished cup of cold latte on the table. California was truly hateful. He had hoped everything would settle down and become normal. He had a proper family at long last, not just a workaholic uncle or a dizzy housekeeper-cum-sister. The therapy sessions twice a week were to help him cope after Jack's death, Jack's murder, and the fact he had killed his evil doppelgänger. Funny his shrink was the one person he still talked to. He was doing OK academically at a high school. He was good at languages, maths and sport. He coasted. Not caring about the pier system or popularity. He knew he was under the radar. Even Sabina had stopped trying to be friendly. Two months of pretending and he had started to stay out of the house as much as possible.

Life with Jack had been fun, easy despite dealing with MI6. Her death was still a raw wound. He missed Tom. He missed football. He refused to call it soccer. He missed London, Alex even missed Brookland Comprehensive. Here he was nothing, a complete nobody. Would anyone miss him if he got on a bus for LA or Seattle and disappeared? Alex did not think so.

He had not been home or to school for three days since his last therapy session. He stank, his clothes were stained and grubby, his hair greasy and matted. Thank god he didn't need to shave yet, then he would have looked like a true hobo. He'd left his phone in his locker at school and he had twenty dollars left in his wallet. He was sat lost in a world of his own rubbing the bullet wound scar on his chest. He knew Mrs Jones kept tabs with both the shrink and the Pleasures. He wondered if she was getting reports from school. He got up and went outside to cruise the streets. He watched people, tourists, hustlers and families. He was trying to connect with someone, anyone.

He was bone tired as he walked through the marina as the sun set. He looked at the yachts with complete disinterest, waiting for security to either move him on or arrest him. Funny how in three days no one had asked him if he was lost or if he needed help. He had slept behind a dumpster in china town and on a park bench at the Presidio. No one cared. He was just a fifteen year old fuck up and runaway. He hadn't even been propositioned for sex. Maybe sleeping behind the dumpster made him smell so rank no one wanted to touch him.

He looked at the pile of barrels half covered with tarpaulin and laid beside them letting exhaustion take him into oblivion.

Edward Pleasure tried Alex's mobile number again. It no longer rang, just went straight through to leave a message. Sabina had informed him the previous day that Alex had been skipping school. He had missed his appointment with Suzanne today. Alex had always turned up for therapy, even if he failed to come home. He usually talked to Suzanne, sorted things through and came home, ate and talked with Edward. Edward kept short hand notes of all the horrifying details that Alex had told him of the sixteen months he had worked for MI6. Suzanne had stated his last session on Tuesday had been intense, Alex was making progress, finally opening up. She had wanted to have family sessions. Edward had no idea why Alex had not come home since Tuesday. He had disappeared before for days arriving back filthy, tired and hungry, acting as if nothing was wrong. Edward went downstairs to talk to Sabina and Liz.

"Dad no one's seen Alex since Tuesday, whatever was discussed in his session must have freaked him out for him to skip school." Sabina knew Alex took school seriously, wanting good grades. She had tried to make their relationship work, but Alex was a wreck. He didn't even respond when she had brought her new boyfriend home. All Sabina's friends thought Alex was a head case. Maybe she should not have told them about his therapy sessions. Krista had tried to tease Alex, but he had just ignored her.

Edward looked at Liz, decision made and he picked up his phone. Hopefully the police would find Alex. Edward had a nagging doubt, Alex was not lost but that his luck had finally run out. Not every member of Scorpia was accounted for.

Mikhail Brezkin looked at the boy lying asleep on the wharf. He had been observing him for two days. It was the still of the night. In the thin beam of the torch, he observed the drawn and thin face of the boy, who looked ill and worn out. It was the face of someone who had endured too much pain and had given up.

So, this was the boy his cousin Yassen had told him about, the son of Hunter. Mikhail had met Hunter. The man had been a legend even in the russian underworld. Mikhail thought back to 1981, he had been in prison when Yassen had been orphaned. He had found the boy in Moscow the next year and had helped Yassen contact Scorpia. He and Yassen had kept in touch over the years.

Glasnost had meant Mikhail now worked internationally, mostly in the USA and Central America. He handled money, arranged deliveries, specialist services and removed problems. Mikhail knew Yassen had no interest in emotional attachments after the fuck up in Mdina fifteen years ago. Then, Yassen had talked of Alex like a son. God knows what he expected of Mikhail. Alex was just another of the lost souls left over from the shattered remains of Scorpia. The organisation had gone into a rapid decline after both Yassen and Max Grendel had died. The fear of assassination had previously kept the board in line, the infighting and grasping for power had destroyed the organisation internally. They had overextended themselves thinking they were invincible.

Mikhail was forty five and was a drifter. He had no ties to russia. He worked independently for anyone who paid. He spoke english, spanish, arabic and mandarin fluently. He had been proud of Yassen, the international assassin with a 100% success rate. Yassen had been an artist at killing and interrogation. Alex Rider was meant to be as gifted as Hunter. Mikhail touched the boy's side with his foot. The boy was awake and alert instantly despite his obvious exhaustion. The boys face was puzzled as he appraised Mikhail and Alex questioned "Yassen?"

"I suppose I do look a bit like Yaska, but he was much prettier than me" and Mikhail grinned. "Mikhail Brezkin, I am Yassen's cousin. He told me about you. You are the double of your father, John."

"You knew my father?" queried the boy.

"I crossed paths with John a few times. He was a good man." Mikhail looked wistful and then his blue eyes, so like Yassen's, looked directly into Alex's eyes. "Yassen and I kept in touch over the years. He was fond of you."

"Really?"

"Yes. Come tell me how my cousin died. I know you were there. Yassen wanted to take you on as an apprentice. He was not happy about how Blunt used you." The boy looked devastated, his grief weighing on him. Mikhail knew Alex was suppressing the loss of his uncle and Yassen. "Come there is an all night diner two blocks away. I could use a hot drink."

Donuts and coffee were consumed in silence before the boy told him about Yassen and the assassin's last employer Damian Cray. Cray's gruesome death brought a little satisfaction to Mikhail. It was obvious from Yassen's actions that he cared for Alex. Why he had asked Mikhail to look out for this boy, Mikhail would never know. Mikhail was not a person you would entrust with anything important, he was a coward, a liar, a cheat and a thief. He had drifted since leaving dance training. Disillusioned, when those with less talent but party membership and connections became soloists and he worked harder and was offered the corps de ballet. He'd fallen into crime and liked being an outsider to the strict social structure in Soviet Russia.

Alex was also quite delectable. Mikhail would befriend the boy and find out about him. Why was he on he streets, pickpocketing to survive in San Francisco of all places. Who or what was he running from.

The boy was asleep on the sofa. Mikhail had brought him to his condo, while he went through his contacts. Work was slack at present. Later he would go to the firing range and see if Alex was truly as gifted as Hunter.

The two cops looked at the picture of the kid, missing for three days. The school had been a dead end. The kids locker contained his phone and school books. His phone had five numbers stored on it. Home, foster father, foster mother, foster sister and therapist. He had made no other out going calls. Edward Pleasure the foster father was the only number calling the phone. The kid had no friends. No one knew where he disappeared to. Alex Rider had vanished into thin air. The therapist spoke of patient confidentiality, that the boy was depressed, but not suicidal, and was still grieving for his last guardian who had died four months previously. Posters would go up but without any suggestion of foul play the case was as good as closed.

The boy was a gifted marksman. Alex told him of failing his first mission with Scorpia. Mikhail knew Yassen had missed his first live target. John had been his mentor and had taken the target out firing as soon as the other bullet was noted off centre. Yassen had never missed another target. Julia Rothman had set Alex up, sending him against MI6 alone. Poor kid. The bitch had really deserved a long, slow and painful death.

Alex soon warmed to Mikhail. Mikhail watched the kid, he knew Alex was a virgin. He could sell him for thousands of dollars to some arab, with his beautiful blond hair, the scars were a problem. He'd get sold to some sick sadist thinking Alex was into pain. No Mikhail would keep his promise to Yassen, the kid was alright. Mikhail explained his life in the Russian mafia and now as a freelance fixer. "I arrange things. I know assassins, drug dealers, money launderers, bankers, lawyers, feds, cops and every variety of crook. I work as a courier, a negotiator, information gathering, all sorts of things" After three days, Mikhail suggested Alex start working for him as a runner and as a look out. He also asked about Alex's sexual preferences. Alex would fit into Mikhail's life better if they were lovers. Alex calculated Mikhail's offer. A life in the grey area between the normal and criminal underworld. Alex had tried normal, it sucked. Alex shrugged. He had thought he had been in love with Sabina. That had worked out so well in reality. Sabina had sided with the normal kids at High School deciding Alex was too fucked up to be seen with. Alex had thought Yassen was hot. Mikhail was handsome and roguish. Not as cold and emotionless like his cousin.

Mikhail took Alex clubbing on Haight Ashbury. Showed him how to party and to enjoy himself. A slightly drunk and stoned Alex told Mikhail he thought he was bisexual and then had kissed the older man. It was different from kissing Sabina, there was no controls or boundaries with Mikhail. The kiss progressed to frottage and them both getting off. Mikhail preferred male lovers and Alex was a welcome addition to his bed.

Alex lay in bed as Mikhail talked on the phone. He was learning Russian by the best method, complete emersion. Mikhail had taken Alex on a few jobs. Alex was good at observation and had noted a stake out on the last pick up in LA. Mikhail's clients had been very grateful. The meeting was rearranged and everyone was happy with no police involvement. Mikhail was now arranging a trip to Mexico.

Alex looked like a tourist in a bright t shirt, flip flops, baseball cap and shorts as he wandered around the area of the meeting. Nothing unusual. He gave the all clear signal to Mikhail and went to a bar to observe the prearranged exit in case of trouble. Alex had an automatic pistol tucked into the back of his shorts , an uzi in his daypack and a knife in his pocket.

Mikhail was very careful arranging meetings. He had been sloppy once and had spent 18 months in a russian jail, he had the bad tattoos to prove it and the horror stories of being a bitch to an absolute bastard inside. Alex liked the work, it was interesting. Mikhail had set him up a bank account and he was getting paid. Mikhail paid for all living expenses and arranged each move. Alex knew of two safehouses in San Francisco, four in Mexico and three in LA. Alex had an excellently forged US passport with a back up Australian one. He did not ask about the intricacies of each job. The less he knew the less he could give away if caught. Alex had met a few of Mikhail's contacts. They thought he was Russian kid, as Mikhail had told Alex only to speak russian to him.

The job had gone well, Alex was snogging Mikhail in a club's VIP area. They were both pleasantly pissed. The Mexican they were working for had invited them. Carlos watched them. Alex was not the first lover Mikhail had brought with him while working. Carlos guessed he was underage, but not green. He recognised the kid had excellent training. Mikhail had hinted at finding the kid in Russia. Carlos suspected Scorpia, many of their operatives were now freelance. Alex was professional, relaxed being in the background, proving cover not muscling in, not asking questions. The last Scorpia trained thug Carlos had worked with had tried to take over. Carlos had spent days entertaining himself after the stupid fuck had failed in his attempted coup. The man had eventually died of his wounds. Carlos wondered if Mikhail had been the one to break the boy in. Alex only spoke when spoken to and obeyed Mikhail completely. Carlos knew the kid was probably kept as the best personal bodyguard anyone could ask for.

They moved on to Bogata. What a shithole thought Alex. Alex had actually kneecapped a stupid thug who had tried to rob Mikhail. The would be mugger had thought Alex was just a pretty little boytoy. Alex was dressed effeminately as cover. The mugger's stupid gang friends had tried to intervene and Alex had emptied his handgun to kill four of them and had stabbed the fifth in the neck. Mikhail had not even drawn his gun. Give it a few years and Alex could be a highly paid assassin.

Afterwards Alex cleaned his gun in the second rate hotel. When he had finished, he picked it up and tossed the gun to Mikhail. Alex was naked apart from a towel after showering. His clothes burnt to destroy evidence of the powder residue and blood. He knelt down and offered his wrists to Mikhail. They had talked about role play, it looked like Alex wanted to play submissive. Mikhail kept Alex kneeling and tied his wrists and ankles with rope. Mikhail stroked Alex's face with the muzzle of the gun and then put it in Alex's mouth. Alex licked and swallowed the gun in an obscene mimicking of a blow job. Alex's pretty mouth sucking the metal. Mikhail removed the gun from Alex's mouth and pocketed it. He grabbed Alex's hair and manhandled him onto the bed face down. The gun back in his hand. He traced down the Alex's sides and back. The muzzle touching the scars on Alex's back. Mikhail then pulling the towel off to expose Alex's backside. He pressed the gun down between the prone boys arse cheeks. He pressed the muzzle against Alex's anus, slowly pushing against the tight ring of muscle. Alex liked being fucked. The discovery of his prostate had turned Alex's world in his head. Mikhail had thought the boy was straight until Alex had kissed him. Mikhail preferred to top. He was surprised when the kid turned out to love cock either in his mouth or up his arse. Mikhail then stripped and started to fuck the prone boy brutally. Afterwards Mikhail hugged and comforted Alex until he fell asleep.

January 2003

Alex relaxed after snorting a line of coke in the Miami house supplied by their current employers. Mikhail then poured two large vodkas. Alex had decided the Cuban cartel they were currently providing services for all deserved to die slowly. The day had started badly when the younger of the Cortez brothers, Juan had got suspicious about Mikhail's assistant. Alex had been dragged in, handcuffed to a chair and drugged with sodium thiopental and then questioned. The first question was his date of birth..."13th February 1987."

Juan looked at Mikhail who was watching. "He's 15. Very, very illegal. Class one felony fucking that little boy. Did you buy him as a virgin?"

Both Mikhail and Alex answered with a "Yes."

The elder brother then moved to cup Alex's face, "Are you giving information to the police?"

"No." Domingo stared at Alex's face.

"Are you in love with Mikhail?"

"Yes" and Alex blushed.

"Would you betray Mikhail?" asked the Cuban -American.

"No I would die first." Domingo then let go of the drugged boy's face.

Domingo smiled. "You have a loyal little bed warmer there. How much did you pay for him?"

"$2000. His body is scarred."

"Abused?"

"Tortured. I got a virgin with a high pain threshold." Mikhail smiled. He didn't care if they thought he was a sick fuck.

Domingo saw his younger brother was looking at Alex, when the younger thug asked "Are you russian?"

"No." said Alex simply

"Stop with the questions, Juan." ordered Mikhail.

Juan then smiled at the Russian fixer. "How much for a night with your boy?"

It was not the first time a client had wanted to sample Mikhail's boy. Alex had sucked Carlos' cock in Mexico. Mikhail exhaled "Use protection, I prefer not to. No torture, no permanent damage, no visible marks."

"Cost?"

"Only if you break my rules".

"I'll see you tonight" Juan had smiled at Alex.

Alex was stoned and well on the way to being drunk. He had already taken painkillers and a muscle relaxant. Alex had a feeling he would be handcuffed face down and fucked. Juan didn't look like the type that went for making love. Alex wore a t-shirt and jeans waiting for the dickhead Juan to arrive. Mikhail hated it when clients encroached on his hospitality. Mikhail stroked Alex's face. Alex stated "I do love you"

"I know you do, Sasha."

Alex knew that something was up. "Its going to go spectacularly wrong tonight. Isn't it?"

"I know. Juan is a sick little fuck. He will hurt you." Mikhail stated as a matter of fact.

"I've been hurt before."

Juan entered the house with a cruel smile on his face. Mikhail lingered over his goodbye kiss. Mikhail just looked at Juan and left.

Domingo was watching a large screen TV showing Mexican soap operas. "I'm sorry about your boy. I will replace him for you"

"You could never replace Alex. He was trained by Scorpia at 14 as an assassin"

"This is Yassen's chosen successor?"

Michael shrugged at Domingo "Your sting will see you brother locked away for life."

"You're leaving without your boy?"

"Yes, I am leaving tonight" Mikhail had passage booked on a Russian Oil Tanker back to Odessa.

"The $2 million is in your account as agreed"

Enough Money, for Mikhail to retire back in a small Dacha near Odessa. It still left a sour taste in his mouth. The whole plan to frame Juan, who had not seen his brothers dissatisfaction with his sadistic ways. Poor Alex, sad, used, crazy Alex. The boy had agreed to the sting, knowing he would be picked up by the CIA as soon as the cops did a search on him. Alex would get psychiatric help he needed, finish high school and probably slide back into the world of assassins and criminals.

"Open up, police!" The armed officers got no response. Then bullets ripped through the door, only narrowly missing the police officers outside. The Swat team fired through the window, a clean head shot and Juan Cortez was dead. The door was kicked in. The units noted the vodka and the signs of cocaine use. The window glass everywhere. Juan's bodyguards had given themselves up without a fight when the cops had surrounded the house. The officers then swept the house. "Chuck get the paramedics - there's a kid chained up in here. He's been drugged, tortured and raped."

The kid had been beaten, and whipped. Blood and semen evidence of forced penetration. The officers had been warned about the selling of street kids by the russian mafia as pets. The CSI unit had already taken prints and pictures and were probably match the kid to a missing persons report before the kid woke up. There were amphetamines on the bedside table obviously used to wake the kid up, next to the sleeping tablets and painkillers. The kid had only briefly stirred giving the paramedics his name, Alex and his date of birth. The kid was 15. The paramedics had moved to stabilise the kid, who was on oxygen with a heart monitor and a drip, now covered in a couple of blankets. The kid's breathing was laboured, he was in danger of slipping into a coma. Eventually the chains and cuffs had to be cut off the kid. His wrists and ankles were a mess of broken skin and bruises. Finally they could get him to the trauma unit.

Dean started the print search. No matches for Florida. The federal database got two hits. Missing persons report from four months previously from San Francisco. Alex Rider, British, foster placement, suspected runaway. No further details. Then came the hit on the CIA database. Level 1 clearance CIA Covert Operations. The phone on Dean's bosses desk was ringing before Dean had even reported his results. The picture of Alex and the case details were emailed to Washington within minutes. Local agents were going to Mercy Hospital to guard the kid.

Sabina came down for breakfast to find her father still at home, comforting her mother in the kitchen. "Morning. Has something happened?"

"A detective from Miami called this morning. Alex is in hospital there." Edward sighed and wiped his face. He did not believe in little white lies or sugar coating the truth. Sabina deserved to know, no matter how painful, so he told her. "Alex is in intensive care. He's been beaten, tortured and raped. Alex is a suspected drug addict."

Sabina gasped, completely shocked.

Edward continued "I'm going to Miami. Alex is likely to be going into rehab and for psychiatric evaluation. He probably won't be living with us again."

Sabina knew she should probably go, but the Alex that had lived with them last year had been a stranger. "Will you be gone long dad?"

"Possibly two or three days. I will be handing Alex's guardianship over to Florida State Social Services." Edward had come to the conclusion Alex was too damaged now for their family unit to help.

"Right. Send him my love."

"I will poppet."

Detective Caine of the Miami Criminal Investigation Team spoke with the doctor's, after 3 days in ICU the kid was coming round. Finally, he and the investigating officer were going to talk to Alex about Cortez and how Alex had become the mafia thug's personal entertainment. Caine read the list of injuries, extensive bruising, cracked ribs, signs of a sustained beating, concussion, the kids back had been whipped raw, even the kid's feet showed signs of bruising. Anal tearing, semen in stomach and anus. Unprotected sex meant DNA from two sources. Fifteen year old runaway. Poor kid had crossed paths with the CIA as well at some point. He'd probably get two interviews and the kid would disappear back to Washington. Caine had talked to the foster father. He'd been so happy Alex had been found then devastated when the details of Alex's hospitalisation were revealed. The kid was not gay according to Mr. Pleasure. He'd been in therapy to deal with the death of his previous guardian in a car accident in Egypt and had trouble settling in at High School. Rider had run away and disappeared.

The kid was still on oxygen, half doped, pale and thin. The doctors had stated the kid was alcohol and drug dependent from the blood test results. "Hello Alex. Can you tell us how you met Cortez?"

Alex looked at the cops. "Met him with Misha that morning. Juan bought me."

"Who's Misha?" asked Caine.

"A russian guy, who found me sleeping rough in San Francisco last September. We've been together since then."

"So no coercion?"

Alex sighed before answering, "We met, we partied, we fucked."

"Alex, sex with an under eighteen involving narcotics, violence and penetration is a felony in Florida and California."

Alex shrugged his shoulders. "Like I care."

"Alex can you tell us where you have been and who you have met over the last four months."

"Lots of places, lots of people."

"Were you a virgin before you met Mikhail?"

"Yep. I was a sad little virgin. Mikhail showed me how to enjoy life."

"Have you had sex with other people Mikhail introduced you to."

"Yes."

"Can you tell us any details?

"No not really. Places, people all blur together. Only beautiful Misha was constant. Sex is sex. I suck cock. I'm very good at sucking cock. Do you guys want a demonstration?" Alex smiled sleepily.

"Did Mikhail make money from these activities?"

"Yeah, I guess. It paid for the drugs." Alex smiled at the half truths he was stating. Make out Mikhail was a low level pimp. Alex closed his eyes and started to snore.

Caine and Rodriguez discussed the interview. The kids answers sounded a little to relaxed and rehearsed. They were not getting the full story. Caine could almost bet Alex had not gotten drunk or taken any drugs before he met Misha. The kid fit the feds profile. Four other Californian runaways had turned up dead from overdoses in various states with Russian mafia connections. Alex was lucky. They would get straight answers once he was more lucid.

Alex Rider had fallen into prostitution, drug and alcohol addiction. Joe Byrne felt old. He broke the news to his counterpart in London. Using the kid as an operative had completely destroyed Alex. The use of teenage operatives had been shelved completely. Mrs Jones looked old, but quickly suggested sending Alex back home for treatment in the specialist teenage unit at London. Byrne guessed the kid would end up at the unit at Harlsden Hall with all the other SIS rejects. Byrne stated they would get the kid clean then worry about guardianship.

Caine had checked up on the kid. An old friend was a retired field agent who had told him that the Alex Rider was the son and nephew of MI6 agents. Mike said the kid had been in operations for 16 months after his uncles death. It really pissed Caine off to see kids hurt and misused. No wonder the kid had gone off the rails. After another guarded question and answer session, Caine watched as the kid refused to eat the hospital lunch. His intuition told him the kid was devastated not from the punishment Juan Cortez had inflicted but from the fact his beloved Misha had left him. Falling in love with a low level russian hood. It had probably been exciting and dangerous. Fifteen. Everybody does stupid things at fifteen. Alex was lucky to be alive. The light fever, tremors and shakes were the only outward sign that the withdrawal from alcohol and cocaine were taking effect. Caine returned later that afternoon with a McDonald's Happy meal. The kid looked at him. "Am I five or something?"

"You haven't eaten for a while. Small portions are easier for you to digest."

Alex tore into the burger and fries. "Urgghh chocolate milkshake."

"I guessed. You prefer coca cola?"

"Always."

"I heard from the doctors, you're headed for rehab."

"I know. Joe Byrne was in earlier. Some place in Virginia, specialises in Teenage fuck ups."

"Joe Byrne?"

"CIA. Just don't ask. Previous foster parents worked for them." Caine noted the half truth.

"Are you getting fostered again?"

"No. Military academy was mentioned. Fucking boot camp till I'm 18. At least I'm not going back to England." the kid spat out.

"No friends or family there?" the cop asked.

"Not anymore. Thanks for the burger - do you want the milkshake?"

"No. I prefer cola as well. See you round kid."

Edward had spent two hours with federal lawyers transferring Alex's guardianship. It had been agreed that Alex go for treatment at a clinic which specialised in treatment for drug/alcohol addiction, anorexia and physical, sexual and emotional trauma. Hopefully he would be back in school by the autumn, having missed a whole school year. Byrne had mentioned a military academy in Minnesota. Edward had read the doctors reports and the preliminary psychiatric evaluation. Edward would keep in touch with Alex but he needed professional help now. He took a taxi to Mercy Hospital. Alex was no longer in ICU just a private room with guards on the door.

The doctor was examining Alex when he arrived. The doctor greeted Edward warmly when he had finished his examination. "You're his foster father? Edward Pleasure?"

"I was. I transferred his guardianship. Alex is now a ward of the Federal Government. Can I see him?"

"Sure."

Alex looked awful. Bandaged wrists, fingerprint bruises and bite marks on the parts of his arms and neck visible. Two black eyes, a taped up nose and split lip. "Hello Alex."

"Hi. Edward. You didn't have to come." Edward noted Alex now spoke English with a perfect American Accent.

"I did. Christ, what happened Alex. You were doing OK with Sandra. You were still settling in at school. I knew it was going to be a big upheaval. You just left."

"Did Sandra tell you about our last session?"

"No. Only that you'd made progress."

"I told her stuff about Yassen and Sabina." Alex mused on his first thought seeing Yassen in Cornwall ' the body of a dancer'. Smoking hot body. That on top of Sabina giving me the heave ho. "I needed to think things through. It was so confusing I thought Sabina liked me. Not enough to wait for me to grieve."

"So what happened?"

"I met someone. Misha. I liked him. Loved him." Alex looked like he was trying not to cry. "He showed me how to party. Sex, drink, drugs. I just forgot about everything." Alex then sighed. "He sold me to a fucking bastard. Now I'm back a square one. Byrne is adamant I clean my act up, get my head shrunk properly and shape up. Fucking military academy. That sucks. I really need a fag."

"You smoke?"

"Cigarettes, cigars, heroin, crack. Yeah I smoke. I'm tired Edward. I liked being out of my head. Being sober is just shit."

"You never struck me the type to get into all that crap."

"I am impulsive and out of control. Misha knew how to keep me entertained. I did anything he asked." Alex exhaled loudly. He did not want twenty questions on his failed relationship. "Sabina still going out with that jerk, Robbie."

"No she's single at the moment. She didn't mean to hurt you." Edward knew he was stretching the truth there. Sabina had proved to be rather immature when dealing with an emotionally damaged, grieving Alex. She had cut him no slack.

"She ripped my heart out and jumped up and down on it. I know I was a mess last summer. Sabina didn't even try to understand. I missed Jack so much. I still feel so guilty about her death." Alex didn't regret killing Julius. Alex pondered that maybe he should have made him suffer a bit more. Alex actually smiled at the thought. He'd watched Mikhail torture two guys in Columbia. He'd shown Alex because it had been Yassen and his father who had shown Misha who to inflict pain like it was an art form. Dimitri Dachev, the cunt who'd tortured Misha in jail had ended up being slowly tortured to death by Yassen and his father John, while they instructed Mikhail. His dad had killed people slowly, brutally and without mercy. John Rider was a good man and a cold hearted murderer.

"Alex I'm sorry it didn't work out with us."

"Its not your fault Edward. I don't think I'd fit in with any family now. Ian fucked me up good and proper." Alex held his head in his hands.

"Alex are you OK?"

"No. Withdrawal sucks. I never should have started on the cocaine but it was everywhere. I just started then I couldn't stop. You get so exhausted, it keeps you awake. Then, I started on the sleeping pills and then amphetamines. I should rattle from all the shit I took."

"Do you need anything?"

"Pizza would be nice. I can't bring myself to eat hospital food. It looks and tastes vile. One of the cops brought me a burger yesterday. Happy meal. I threw the toy out though."

Edward came in later with a box of pizza. The agents on the door took a piece so did the nurse. Alex and Edward shared the rest washed down with ice cold bottles of coke.

Edward met with a friend who worked for the Miami Chronicle and got the low down on Juan Cortez. He'd been buried quietly that afternoon. Family only. The fact he'd been shot during a abduction and violent sexual assault of a 15 year old boy had made it to the papers. Edward told him the extent of Alex's injuries. "Christ! Edward, so your foster son ran away with some Russian hood, who sold him to that fucker who raped, beat and tortured him. I'd heard rumours Juan Cortez was a sick sadistic creep. Is Alex OK?"

"No. He's heartbroken. Misha did a number on him. He's going into rehab then military academy."

"Kill or cure."

"If Alex makes it the the academy I'll be happy. I fear he's in for a long stay in hospital to sort out his issues. He had major issues before he ran away. Alex doesn't fit into normal life. I hope he straightens himself out. Otherwise he will have a short and probably very violent life."

Alex was escorted by a burly nurse to the facility in West Virginia. He was surprised by the open grounds and trust placed in the patients. Once detoxed, it took Alex precisely three hours to decide to leave. His first group therapy with a bunch of rich kids alienated from their successful parents, had Alex laughing at their ideal, pain free lives. Alex had been given time out for ranting at the other kids for being spoiled and stupid with no idea of the real world.

By the time he was reported as missing Alex was already out of state and headed west to Los Angeles, hoping to find his Misha.


End file.
